


Deserving

by Riona



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Ardyn being creepy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 18:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10471494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riona/pseuds/Riona
Summary: Prison AU. Noctis, Ignis and Gladio are all serving time. When they realise Prompto doesn't belong there, they band together to break him out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This really wasn't something I was expecting to write, and then I saw [a prompt](http://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3016.html?thread=2295752) on the kinkmeme and somehow it happened! This AU takes a few liberties with magic and, I'll be honest, with prisons. I'm a bit nervous about it, but I hope you enjoy it.

The new kid is wide-eyed, shivering, clutching one forearm in a nervous gesture. He doesn’t look like he’ll last two days in this place.

But Noctis remembers hearing whispers to the same effect when he’d walked through those doors himself, and maybe that’s what makes him wave the kid over to eat with them in the cafeteria.

New Kid approaches with evident reluctance, glancing repeatedly at Gladio.

“We’re not going to eat you,” Noctis says. “Sit down.”

New Kid sits, hesitantly. He still looks like he expects to get shanked at any moment. Noctis watches with interest, the way his shoulders shift, the way his eyes flicker around the room. Is it an act? Is he a hardened criminal, or is he just a guy who wound up here for shoplifting?

“What’re you in for?” Gladio asks, without preamble.

New Kid’s hand tightens on his arm. “Uh.”

There’s a moment’s silence.

“We’re likely to learn it at some point, whether you tell us or not,” Ignis says. “The guards aren’t known for respecting our privacy. This is your opportunity to ensure we hear of it from your perspective first.”

The new kid takes a mouthful of pasta, apparently as an excuse not to talk. He still hasn’t let go of his forearm, which makes the manoeuvre look a little awkward.

“Okay,” Noctis says, “I guess I’ll go first. I’m in for blasphemy.”

New Kid chokes on his pasta. Looks up at him. “ _Blasphemy?_ ”

Noctis shrugs.

“Wait, I thought – do blasphemy laws even exist any more? What?”

“Guess you can talk after all,” Gladio says, and the new kid flushes and drops his fork.

“Most were repealed, it’s true,” Ignis says. “But there are certain blasphemy laws still in effect.”

“Turns out you’re still not allowed to pick a fight with a god,” Noctis says.

New Kid stares at him. “In the sense of arguing, or...?”

“In the sense of fighting,” Noctis says. “Swords.”

“You fought a god,” New Kid says, a little faintly. “You _literally_ fought a god.”

It’s a gratifying reaction, but Noctis tries to keep a straight face. “Not like it was a big deal.”

“Unfortunately, the judge seemed to believe it was,” Ignis mutters.

“What about you guys?” New Kid asks, excited now, curious. He’s let go of his wrist at last. There’s some kind of ink there, Noctis notes.

“You’ve gotta give us something first,” Gladio says. He snorts when New Kid’s eyes widen in terror. “I’m saying at least tell us what we should call you, if you’re not gonna tell us why you’re here.”

“Oh,” New Kid says. “Uh. Prompto is fine.”

Gladio gestures to the scar over his eye. “Got in a fight. Some guy thought he’d teach Noct here a lesson for disrespecting the gods. I roughed him up pretty bad, got taken in.”

“So you knew each other before you came here?” Prompto asks, looking between Noctis and Gladio. “He’s, like, your muscle?” He seems to realise what he’s saying halfway through saying it and edges away from Gladio. “I mean – I’m not trying to say you’re, like, a tool or anything, you’re your own person, I guess, I just—”

But Gladio’s laughing. “Yeah, I’m his muscle. Someone has to be for this scrawny nothing.”

“Scrawny nothing who _fought a god_ ,” Prompto mutters, and Noctis decides he likes this kid.

Prompto seems a lot less on edge now, even if he still looks out of place. They finish exchanging names, they finish eating, and Prompto exclaims “Oh!” suddenly as they all stand up to take their trays to the dumping ground. He turns to Ignis. “What are you here for?”

“Murder, I’m afraid,” Ignis says, and Prompto drops his tray.

Prompto ends up getting dragged off for an evening in solitary. “Apologies,” Ignis murmurs, as the guards haul him past.

“You didn’t have to freak him out,” Noctis says. “It’s not even true.”

Ignis raises his eyebrows. “Isn’t it?”

“You just confessed so Gladio and I wouldn’t take the fall,” Noctis says. “Like a moron.”

It had been the guy who’d attacked Noctis, the one Gladio had beaten up. He’d been found dead under mysterious circumstances not long afterwards. Suspicion had fallen on Noctis and Gladio. And Ignis had confessed.

But there’s no way it’s true. Because that would mean Ignis murdered a guy for Noctis, and Noctis isn’t sure he’d be able to handle that knowledge.

“I’m happy for you to believe whatever you’d like,” Ignis says, quietly.

-

They’re out in the yard when Ravus dumps Prompto at their feet. “You can teach this thing how to behave itself, Scientia.”

“And you can go fuck yourself,” Gladio suggests, as Noctis helps Prompto upright.

Ravus stalks away. He’s never dared to pick a fight with Gladio.

“Are you all right?” Ignis asks Prompto.

Prompto is shaking; Noctis can feel it. “That guy...”

“Ravus?” Noctis asks. “Yeah, he’s the biggest asshole of the guards.” And he’s probably going to have his eye on the guy who ended up in solitary on his first day, Noctis thinks, with a guilty glance at Ignis. “Did he hurt you?”

Prompto shakes his head. “Not much.”

Gladio makes an angry _tch_ noise.

“I _could_ give you some advice on conduct, if you wish,” Ignis says. “I have some idea of how to keep things smooth.”

That’s an understatement. Ignis is a model of good prisoner behaviour. He’s already been given the privilege of helping Takka out in the kitchens from time to time.

“That’d be great,” Prompto says, not quite meeting any of their eyes. “Thanks.”

The whistle blows for the end of rec time, and they all assemble to file back into the building. Noctis sticks close to Prompto, who still kind of looks like he might collapse at any moment.

“Sorry we landed you in solitary,” Noctis says.

Prompto shrugs. “Hey, no big deal. It was my fault for freaking out just because your friend is. Uh. A murderer.”

“He’s not,” Noctis says, firmly.

“Really? Phew. That’s a relief. Although I guess it kind of sucks if he got locked up and he didn’t actually do it.”

Sucks less than killing someone, Noctis would guess. Sucks less than waking up every day to the knowledge you took someone’s life. Which Ignis definitely doesn’t have to do on Noctis’s account, because he _didn’t do it_.

The victim had been knocked out with a single blow to the throat and then strangled. Careful, methodical, most likely cold-blooded, given the pains the killer had taken to avoid leaving evidence. Ignis just isn’t the kind of guy who could do something like that.

-

Noctis goes looking for Prompto at rec time the next day, to make sure Ravus isn’t hassling him, but it takes a while to track him down. Eventually he spots Prompto walking away from Gamblers’ Corner.

Uh-oh.

“Were you just playing cards with Cindy?” Noctis asks.

“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” Prompto asks, happily.

“I’m guessing you came off worse.”

“I miiiiight have had to give her all my soap,” Prompto admits.

“You know she’s a con artist, right? That’s why she’s in here. You don’t play cards with Cindy.”

“Well, yeah,” Prompto says. “But how else am I going to get her to talk to me?”

Noctis groans, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Apparently Prompto’s their responsibility now, because if they just leave him to his own devices he’s going to get eaten alive.

-

“How long are you in here for?” Noctis asks, leaning back on their preferred bench. “Can you tell us _that_ much?”

Prompto winces. “I don’t think I’m getting out.”

Noctis looks over at him, startled. “You don’t seem the kind of guy who’d commit a life crime.”

“His sentence isn’t life, I suspect,” Ignis says. “He just doesn’t have an end date set.”

“Huh?” Gladio asks. “Is that legal?”

“You’re from the MT programme,” Ignis says, gesturing at the barcode on Prompto’s wrist. “Aren’t you?”

Prompto freezes up.

“Failed? Escaped?” Ignis asks.

“Both,” Prompto whispers, after a moment.

“The MT programme?” Noctis asks.

“Humans bred to be weapons by Niflheim,” Ignis says. “Legally speaking, Prompto doesn’t exist as a person, which means there’s no need to give him a defined sentence. He’s merely an object being stored here to avoid any unpleasantness.”

There’s a long silence.

“What the _fuck?_ ” Noctis asks.

Prompto flinches. “Sorry.”

“Not _you!_ ” Noctis snaps. “Just – it isn’t right. You’re a person. Did you even do anything wrong?”

“He’s existing outside the purpose for which he was created,” Ignis murmurs. “It’s crime enough. In the eyes of the law, he’s nothing more than an unpredictable weapon that must be contained.”

“You can’t lock someone up for something they _might_ do,” Noctis bites out, furious.

“Unfortunately,” Ignis says, “you can.”

-

Prompto’s not at breakfast the next morning; he told them yesterday he had a medical check-up. He shows up halfway through rec time.

“How’d it go?” Noctis asks.

Prompto nods. “The doctor was really nice.”

“Luna? Yeah, she’s all right. You know she’s Ravus’s sister?”

“Wait, seriously?” Prompto asks. “Wow. Wouldn’t be easy having him as a brother-in-law.”

Gladio snorts with laughter. “Thought you were into Cindy.”

Prompto flushes. “No, I wasn’t thinking – it was just an observation!”

“Sure,” Gladio says. “If you were looking for speed-dating, I’m pretty sure you’ve taken a wrong turn.”

There’s a moment while Prompto shifts on his feet.

“Do they always... strap you down?” Prompto asks at last, dropping his voice. “Or is it just ’cause I’m...” He taps the barcode on his wrist, and Noctis bites down on the anger threatening to rise in his chest.

“Yeah, we all get strapped down,” Gladio says.

“It’s to prevent the use of magic,” Ignis says. “The infirmary is the one place in the prison where the anti-magic field is lifted, so Luna can work her healing spells without restriction.”

“Are anti-magic fields really necessary?” Prompto asks. “I mean, how many magical prisoners can there be?”

Noctis raises a hand.

“No way,” Prompto breathes.

“I told you I fought a god, right?” Noctis asks. “Leviathan. I went to ask her for power. She wasn’t too pleased.”

“And you fought?” Prompto asks. “And then she actually _gave_ you the power?”

Noctis shrugs. “Guess I impressed her.”

“Not enough for her to testify at your trial,” Gladio says.

“Not sure she’d fit in the courtroom,” Noctis says.

-

“Where are they keeping you?” Noctis asks Prompto, as they file back to the cells. “They don’t just stick you in a storage locker, right?”

Prompto shakes his head. “Nah, I’ve got a cell.”

“To yourself?”

Prompto points. “That guy over there—”

Noctis misses his next step, just about manages to stay on his feet. “You’re sharing with _Ardyn?_ ”

Their cellmates are assigned based loosely on the severity of their crimes, on the grounds that there’s no reason to force a thief to share with a mass-murderer. Noctis and Gladio, both expected to be out in fourteen months, are in a cell together. Ignis, the supposed murderer, shares his cell with killer-for-hire Aranea Highwind.

And Prompto, the kid who’s been locked up forever just for existing, is trapped with Ardyn Izunia, a criminal mastermind who, it’s said, committed every felony in the books for his own amusement.

“He’s okay,” Prompto says, a little uncertainly. “I mean, he’s been really polite.”

“He’s polite, yeah,” Noctis says. “But he screws with people. Watch your back.”

As Noctis climbs the steps to the cell he shares with Gladio, he watches Prompto, still walking along the lower tier, his body language more closed off now that he’s alone. Sees Ardyn sweep in beside Prompto and place a hand on his back to steer him, possessive, controlling, like a guard rather than a fellow prisoner.

“Keep moving, Caelum,” Ravus says, quiet and dangerous.

Noctis keeps moving. He feels a little nauseous.

He hauls himself up onto his bunk, the top one, and sits there, thinking about Ardyn, thinking about Prompto, thinking about watching Ardyn’s last cellmate deteriorate into a shivering mess.

When Gladio’s entered and the door has clicked shut, the two of them look at each other for a moment.

“We have to get Prompto out of here,” Noctis says.

-

“The infirmary is the weakest point,” Noctis says, pacing in the yard. He looks up at the infirmary: stark brick wall, small window. “I could use magic there.”

“Yeah, if we all got up there without restraints,” Gladio says. “I’m guessing you’re not planning to scale the wall.”

They’d be spotted in a second. Noctis sighs, stops pacing, leans against the wall in question. Closes his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think that would wor—”

His eyes snap open.

“Noct?” Prompto asks.

Noctis presses himself against the wall beneath the infirmary, as flat as he can make himself. He’s not imagining it. That’s power he can feel, real power, _magical_ power flowing through him.

“There’s no anti-magic field here,” he says.

“You’re sure?” Ignis asks instantly.

“Yeah. However they’re blocking it for the infirmary, it goes out a tiny bit past the wall.”

“And down to the ground,” Ignis observes. “I suppose precision is difficult. That would explain why the space below it isn’t used for cells.”

“Wait,” Prompto says. “Does this mean we could seriously do this? I mean, _seriously?_ ”

“Any chance you can warp over the wall from here?” Gladio asks.

Noctis looks up at the exterior wall opposite him, the razor wire topping it. He shakes his head. “I’d need to be higher up.”

“And if we were in the infirmary itself?” Ignis asks.

“Through the window?” Noctis asks, craning his neck back to look up at the infirmary. “Yeah, that might work.”

“So we still need to reach the infirmary,” Ignis says. “Unencumbered by straps, ideally.”

Noctis taps his knuckles twice against the wall. “Anyone know what’s on the other side of this?”

“Storage space for heavy-duty cleaning supplies, I believe,” Ignis says. “No inmates permitted.”

“You know a lot about the layout of this place,” Prompto says, looking over at him.

Ignis clears his throat. “I did my research when I thought I might need to break Noct and Gladio out. In the event, their sentences were too short for it to be worthwhile.”

Noctis frowns at him. “You never told me about that.”

“To avoid disappointment if I failed to come up with a workable plan,” Ignis says. “And of course my own arrest complicated things.”

Noctis looks at him for a moment longer, then turns back to the wall. “Well, if it’s storage space, we _might_ be able to tunnel into it without getting caught.”

“You can do that?” Prompto asks. “Magically?”

“I mean, I _could_ break straight through this wall,” Noctis admits, “but it’d make too much noise. We’d be found out right away, and I’m pretty sure they’d fix this magic patch.”

“So what’re you thinking?” Gladio asks.

Noctis conjures up a miniature whirlwind of water in his palm, tiny but ferociously powerful. He presses his hand against the wall behind his back, feels it already beginning to wear away at the brick.

“We go slow,” he says.

-

They spend the whole of rec time leaning against the wall, chatting, while Noctis steadily wears into the brick behind his back. A little before the bell rings, Noctis tries to magically cloak the damage he’s done. It takes a while to get the illusion to match up exactly with the wall around it, but eventually he manages it.

“And that will hold?” Ignis asks.

“Yeah,” Noctis says. “I’ll need to refresh it every couple of days, but it should be okay while we’re in our cells.”

“Is it solid?” Prompto asks.

Noctis reaches out to touch the wall. The tips of his fingers disappear through it, into the shallow hollow he’s worn away.

“Right,” Gladio says. “Anyone puts their hand against that wall, they’ll find our hole.”

“We’ll need to work quickly to avoid discovery,” Ignis says, adjusting his glasses.

“And if we work _too_ quickly, we’ll be discovered,” Prompto says, with a sigh. “Prison breaking is _stressful_ , you guys.”

-

They start hanging out by the wall every day, Noctis pressing as much magic against it as he dares. The fact that the illusion isn’t solid does have one advantage, at least: he can work _through_ the illusion, rather than having to remove it every time and expose the slowly growing hole for all to see.

“My friends, excuse me,” a voice says pleasantly, and Noctis jerks his hand out of what looks like solid brick. It’s Ardyn.

“What do you want?” Gladio demands.

“My, there’s no need to be hostile,” Ardyn says. “I merely came to check on my cellmate. We sleep mere feet apart, and yet it seems I never see him now that the three of you have adopted him.”

Prompto fidgets. Glances at the invisible hole in the wall approximately fifty times. Noctis shoots him a glare, attempting to communicate that this is not a particularly helpful thing to do, which only seems to make Prompto more nervous.

“I can understand the impulse to take him under your wing, of course,” Ardyn says. “He does have a certain wide-eyed, anxious charm.” He reaches out and strokes his fingers along Prompto’s cheek, just for an instant, before Gladio catches hold of his wrist.

They can’t be there all the time, Noctis thinks. They can’t be there all the time. They need to get Prompto out of here as soon as possible.

“I think your time would be better spent elsewhere,” Ignis says, stepping between Ardyn and Prompto.

“Ah, yes,” Ardyn says, his gaze sliding lazily to Noctis. “The friend who murdered for you. You do inspire the most extraordinary loyalty. I wonder how poor Prompto will turn out, now that he seems to have fallen into your inner circle.”

-

“It seems to me that Gladio poses a problem,” Ignis says.

“He’ll add another few days onto the tunnelling,” Noctis says. “I know. I was thinking it too.”

Noctis, Ignis, Prompto, they’ll be able to fit through the hole soon, maybe tomorrow. But Gladio is approximately the size of a tower block. And, as the hole gets bigger, so does the risk that someone’s going to stumble across it. They can’t afford to lose more days.

“Perhaps he might be persuaded to stay and live out his term,” Ignis says. “He’s not essential to the plan, and his sentence isn’t a long one. Certainly not one worth becoming a fugitive for.”

“Ignis,” Noctis says. “He’s been with us every second of free time we’ve had. When we disappear, they’re gonna figure out that he knew something about the escape plan, and he’s gonna be in trouble.”

Ignis frowns. “Well, I do have an alternative, but I must say it’s not ideal.”

“Cut off his massive arms?” Noctis asks.

-

Ignis asks Aranea to meet them at one of the benches two days later, as it seems unsafe to hold meetings with outsiders by the wall.

The hole is large enough to get through. Noctis has squeezed through it, looked around, decided on the best spot to break into the infirmary through the ceiling. They don’t have the time to wear through it gradually, and Luna’s in there most of the day anyway; she’ll notice someone tunnelling up through the floor, no matter how slowly it’s done. So they need a noisy distraction to cover up the sound of Noctis punching through.

Noctis has something in mind.

They could be out of here tonight, if all goes to plan. Gladio’s ridiculous bulk is the only obstacle.

“We need Gladio to be kept in the infirmary overnight,” Ignis says.

“Gonna explain why?” Aranea asks.

Noctis looks to the others for a brilliant lie. Nobody seems struck with inspiration.

“Fine,” Aranea says. “Overnight? You know we’ve got a magical doctor, don’t you?”

“Healing magic has its limits,” Ignis says. “And there are certain cases where a patient will be kept in for observation.”

“So you’re talking head injury,” Aranea says. “Any reason you’re talking about it to me?”

“Well, it’ll look weird if I bash my own head against a wall,” Gladio says.

“And none of us can risk being sent to solitary for attacking him,” Ignis says, gesturing to himself, Noctis and Prompto.

“So you thought you’d come to me,” Aranea says. “Awesome. I _love_ solitary.”

“We realise it’s a large request,” Ignis says. “If you feel you can’t help us—”

Aranea shakes her head. “I’m not even kidding. It’ll be good to take a break from all these assholes.”

And she slams Gladio’s head onto the bench.

-

They sit side by side in the storage room beneath the infirmary, shoulders pressed together, inside the illusion of empty shelves Noctis conjured up for them. It’s a relief that Gladio isn’t here; Noctis can barely scrape up enough magic to cloak the three of them. Four would be even tougher.

He is a little worried about Gladio, though. Aranea really went for it.

They sit there while the bell rings, while the rest of the inmates file inside the main building. Noctis counts his breaths. Minutes pass.

He thinks he might hear it starting. Some kind of disturbance. Running feet. Frantic, angry voices. Inmates laughing and rattling their doors.

They’ve figured out that three people are missing.

_Set off an alarm,_ Noctis wills them. _Set off an alarm._

It takes a while, and guards check in on the storage room twice (Noctis holds his breath and concentrates as hard as he can on the illusion; next to him, Prompto is very clearly trying not to hyperventilate). But eventually sirens go off, loud and piercing, and Noctis stands and gathers all his magic together and releases it in a blast that punches straight through the ceiling, in the corner, where hopefully – _hopefully_ – it shouldn’t be too noticeable upstairs.

It’s not a large hole. But it should be enough.

-

They wait until nightfall, until it’s dark, until Luna’s left for the night, or so Noctis hopes. He doesn’t think he can hear her moving around above them any more, at least. He doesn’t want to get her tangled up in this.

The sirens have stopped at last. But people are still searching; he can hear their footsteps.

Noctis grips the pencil from their cell, the one Gladio has been using on and off to work on his novel. It’s short, barely a stub, and blunt; the guards are reluctant to give them anything that might theoretically be jabbed into someone’s eye. But it’ll work. This will work.

“Hold tight,” he says, grimly. “I’m not coming back down here for you if you let go.”

Which is a lie, of course. Prompto and Ignis are the ones with long sentences they don’t deserve, the ones who actually _need_ to get out of here. But he says it anyway.

Prompto and Ignis wrap their arms around him from either side. Noctis hurls the pencil through the hole in the ceiling and warps up after it.

Gladio’s here. That’s the first thing Noctis registers. He’s here, strapped to a bed. The plan with Aranea worked.

The second thing he registers is that Ravus is here as well, stumbling back in startled confusion. As well he might, because three inmates just manifested out of thin air in front of him.

“ _Crap_ ,” Prompto says, clinging harder to Noctis.

“Let go,” Noctis says, because Ravus is moving past shock and into reaction, he’s reaching for his communicator, they’re all going to be _screwed_ —

And Ignis knocks Ravus out with one sharp blow to the throat, precise and practised. Exactly the way his supposed victim was incapacitated before he died.

There’s a moment of absolute silence.

“You murdered someone,” Noctis says.

“I was convicted of it some months ago,” Ignis says. “This isn’t a new development.”

Prompto hovers for a moment in the space between them, uncertainly, and then edges away to unstrap Gladio from the bed.

Noctis tries to swallow. It feels like his mind is catching fire, slowly, unstoppably. “Why? For revenge?”

“It wasn’t revenge,” Ignis says. “I merely thought I’d keep an eye on him, after the incident. I didn’t have any intention—”

“You’re trying to tell me you strangled him by _accident?_ ”

“I learnt he was planning a further attack on you,” Ignis says.

Noctis feels like he can’t breathe.

“I have never lied to you about this,” Ignis says, quietly.

There’s a silence. It’s probably a few seconds. It seems like years.

And then the sound of guards still searching the prison cuts into Noctis’s awareness, and he remembers where they are.

“Look,” Gladio says, wandering over, rubbing his head, “I know time is of the essence and everything, but can we just head back to the cells real quick so I can punch Aranea?”

It’s said too lightly; it’s clear that he heard their conversation. Noctis knows what he’s really saying. _Stay on track. Now’s not the time to think about this._

It does kind of seem like the time to think about this. He’s about to break Ignis out of prison. The fact that Ignis actually _did_ commit murder suddenly seems very relevant.

But he could stand here and think about this for hours, and he knows deep in his chest that he’d never leave Ignis here. He can’t do it.

“Okay,” he says. He takes a breath. Looks at the window, which is clearly not designed to open. “Someone’s going to notice when I break the window. You need to hold on to me. Be ready.”

When everyone is in position, Noctis breaks the window with another blast of magic. He hurls the pencil as hard as he can in almost the same motion, and he counts every heartbeat until it passes the razor wire, and then he warps.

-

They pause to catch their breath in an alleyway, when they’re a good distance from the prison. Ignis begins outlining next steps: stocking up on as much food as possible before wanted posters are released, finding some form of transport. Cindy’s grandfather owns a garage and is famed for treating former convicts generously, although _escapees_ might be another matter.

Noctis is barely listening. He looks around. They’re all here. Gladio. Prompto, the guy they did all this for.

And Ignis, the friend who once killed a man for Noctis. The friend Noctis can never look at in the same way again.

_You do inspire the most extraordinary loyalty,_ Ardyn seems to whisper in his ear.

Maybe Prompto would be better off on his own. It’s not that Noctis doesn’t trust Ignis; he may not know Ignis as well as he thought he did, but he still knows him better than to think he’d harm Prompto. Noctis doesn’t trust _himself_. He made a man into a killer, however unintentionally. He can’t be sure it won’t happen again.

Noctis looks at Prompto. Braces himself to say _you’d better find your own way from here_.

He bested a god, and he’s not strong enough for this.

“Let’s go,” he says, instead.


End file.
